


My Hero

by NortheasternWind



Series: Poor Taste [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Decisions, Dramatic Irony, Hurt/Comfort, I swear, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Canon, Secret Identity, it's not that heavy i swear, jack has no idea what's under reaper's mask
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 11:51:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11147826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NortheasternWind/pseuds/NortheasternWind
Summary: Strike Commander Morrison expected that if he ever got a significant other, he would probably end up having to do some rescuing. But the situation is a bit more complicated when your boyfriend is a terrorist and you don't even know his name.





	My Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Solrika and Marshy and the others over at the Discord helped a lot with this, including providing some lines word-for-word. Thanks guys! Set in the version of Poor Taste that leads into Solrika's [The Height Of Irresponsibility](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11042928), where Jack pursues the booty and receives it, as opposed to the version which is a comedy consisting of both of them yelling constantly about the lack of booty instead.

Walking into a firefight with no weapons or armor was not, sadly enough, the worst idea Jack Morrison had not only had but acted upon lately. But a quick peek into Gabriel’s files revealed that Reaper was in town again, and that his next probable target was significantly more competent than his last. Reaper had a proficiency in battle so impressive it made Jack hot under the collar, but knowing he was so close to home made him worry more than he might have if Reaper were out of reach, and so he’d made some excuse about fresh air and went out in his civilian clothes to loiter nearby.

Maybe he would spot Jack and give up this particular criminal pursuit in favor of something they’d both enjoy a little more. It was a nice thought.

What actually happened, unfortunately, was less pleasant than either of them had hoped: it ended with Jack silently weaving his way through the battlefield, heart pounding, dragging the wounded Reaper quietly out of sight while their enemies picked through the rubble to finish him off.

Jack couldn’t very well take him to headquarters; that was bound to set off an alarm or two and cause trouble for them both, Jack’s authority be damned. Once out of earshot of the battlefield he turned instead to one of Gabriel’s safehouses, a precaution Jack had considered overly paranoid before but now appreciated.

Gabriel. Jack was probably undermining his best friend’s efforts to bring Reaper to justice, and now using the man’s own safehouse to do it. But, Jack thinks, his grip on Reaper tightening, even if Gabriel would disapprove he might at least understand, because if there was anything Gabe excelled at it was reading and acknowledging Jack’s feelings—

Pain lanced through Jack’s side, punching the air out of him and stopping him dead in his tracks. He didn’t have to look down to know what caused it: Reaper had dug his claws into Jack’s shirt as hard as he could, and was currently doing his damndest to squirm free of Jack’s grip.

“Hey—” Fortunately Jack was stronger, hitching Reaper more securely about his shoulders. “Cut that— Ow! What’s wrong?”

Reaper’s ragged breath was the only answer he received, but the trembling fist in Jack’s shirt spoke volumes. He was definitely anxious about something, but without a voice there was no way for him to indicate what.

“I’m taking you somewhere safe where I can patch you up, and then you can leave,” Jack promised. “You’re not in any position to be doing it yourself, buddy.”

Reaper’s shoulders slumped and his grip loosened, leaving Jack to assume begrudging acceptance. Without any further complications Jack lugged his companion to Gabe’s safehouse, depositing him carefully on the nearest couch and leaving to fish the first aid kit out of the bathroom.

“This place isn’t actually mine,” Jack called back to him as he searched. “So we’ll have to get you out of here as quickly as possible. Which seems to be what you want anyway, but you’re not going until I know you’re not going to bleed out in a dark corner somewhere.”

Reaper had barely moved an inch when Jack returned, a bad sign for one who had presumably seen his fair share of injuries. The furniture had been specifically chosen to make cleaning up less of a hassle, but that only made the amount of blood staining the couch look even more alarming. Jack swallowed against his will and settled in on the floor next to Reaper, getting to work on all the belts holding his coat closed—

Suddenly there were claws on Jack’s wrist, and when he started and looked up the other man shook his head furiously.

“Come on,” Jack said irritably. “If you die I’ll find out who you are anyway.”

Reaper shook his head again, reaching up with his left hand to take a fistful of Jack’s hair. Tapping once on his skull. Reaper’s pantomime for  _ no _ .

“It’s going to be hard to wrap you up with that thing in the way.”

Jack winced as Reaper’s grip tightened and he tapped on Jack’s head again.  _ No. _

“...Suit yourself.”

With a tightness in his throat he couldn’t explain Jack went back to work, disinfecting and binding Reaper’s wounds as best he could with the coat in the way. Sometimes there was simply no getting around cutting pieces out first, but Reaper shied away from the knife every time Jack brought it close and tapped  _ no _ if he cut off too much.

“Hey,” Jack said with a softness he hadn’t intended. “I already said I wasn’t going to take it off.”

But Reaper did not relax, and no amount of gentle reassurance could make him do so. His whole body was pulled taut, ready to defend himself at a moment’s notice, and Jack couldn’t stop the wave of helpless frustration the thought sent through him.

_ He’s just being cautious with a natural enemy _ , Jack reminded himself.  _ Like I should be. _ But that knowledge didn’t change the irrational pain of knowing how little Reaper trusted him with this—his identity or his life.

Reaper’s obvious suffering and fear struck deeper, however; no matter how many times Gabriel and Torbjörn warned against a bleeding heart it was simply impossible to restrain his need to help, to do something even if he could regret it in the future. And Reaper especially was…

Without warning Reaper surged upwards and toppled Jack off the couch, pinning him on the floor with his claws around Jack’s throat. For a moment Jack knew a blinding fear and bitter regret at his own foolishness, but when Reaper didn’t take the opportunity to slit his throat he restrained the urge to defend himself. Reaper shook so violently he risked cutting Jack open sheerly by accident, and after hastily sorting through his distracted memory Jack caught the problem.

“I—I wasn’t going to take it off!” he said. “I was trying to get at your shoulder—I wasn’t trying to touch your mask at all, I swear. I’m sorry.”

Reaper’s chest heaved in his distress, but such a sudden exertion seemed to make his decision easier; he slid off of Jack with more effort than it should have taken and collapsed onto his back, throwing an arm over his face. He trembled pitifully, and something in Jack’s chest tightened.

For all that Jack had every right to know who Reaper was under the mask, he’d said sorry. And he meant it. He… would rather go on not knowing than see the man so upset.

Fuck.

“Hey. Let’s get you patched up, alright? I don’t want to hurt you, so try to relax.” Jack pushed himself upright and carefully scooped Reaper into his arms—the couch was still the best place to take care of him. He offered no resistance at all, only stiffening as Jack inevitably jostled his wounds placing him back on the couch. “I’ll try to move more slowly from now on. Come on, just rest…”

Reaper made a noise that could have been either frustration or pain. Jack bit his lip; he should have known better than to think not being able to see Reaper’s face would make this easier to bear. He took a deep breath and reached for Reaper’s shoulder. “Alright, I’m gonna need to see that shoulder. Try not to panic this time, you hear?”

It was a wonder Reaper had any movement at all in that arm, Jack thought idly, reminded of his own accelerated healing. “I’ll get you something for the pain when I’m done—if you’ll take it while I’m still here. Although I bet a guy like you would knock them back dry under these circumstances.” Talking would probably keep his mind off things better… “You’re a real headache, you know that? Getting up to mischief less than twenty miles from Overwatch HQ. I can help you out on the streets, but you’re more likely to get the fake combat routine the minute you step inside.

“Hell, you’d better not step inside at all, because if you do I’m going to assume you’re there to kill more of my people.” Jack paused for a moment, willing the anger out of his limbs so he wouldn’t hurt Reaper without meaning to. “...We’ve been through this before. There’s no point in saying it all again.”

There wasn’t. Reaper could neither justify his actions nor apologize for them, and Jack had a feeling that even if he could he would do neither. Was it because he believed himself morally justified, or because he simply didn’t regret the loss of life? Jack didn’t know enough about him to tell. He could be laughing right now, and Jack would have no idea...

Jack’s teeth were ground together so tightly his jaw was beginning to hurt, so he took a deep breath and tried to relax. “...Sorry. I don’t know whether I have the right to take this all out on you.”

Even Jack wasn’t foolish enough to admit it out loud and give Reaper such a powerful weapon, but for all his anger the thought of Reaper in any kind of pain, physical or emotional, made him sick. He didn’t want to turn a blind eye to Reaper’s crimes. He didn’t want to betray his friends like this. He didn’t want to bite his tongue and smother his own discontent, but the only person he could speak to about it was Reaper and  _ he didn’t want to hurt Reaper _ .

“Whatever,” he said gruffly, finishing up with the last piece of gauze. “I just hope you appreciate what I’m doing for you. You don’t have to thank me, but you’d better understand—”

Understand what?

“—how much effort this took,” he finished, rising to his feet. “You can leave if you want to, but you’re clearly in no state to go anywhere and I’m not leaving you in a friend’s safehouse by yourself, so I’m gonna get some shuteye. I suggest you do the same.”

He turned to go, but a hand on his stopped him. He had half a mind to shake it off and continue, but in the end he turned to see what Reaper wanted. The mask leered up at him impassively.

“...Oh, the painkillers.”

Reaper shook his head, tapping once.  _ No. _ The hand tugged softly.

“...You want me to stay with you?”

Two taps.  _ Yes. _

Jack hesitated, then sighed. “I’m carrying you to the bed. There’s no way we’ll both fit on that thing, so don’t complain if it hurts.”

For the third time that night Jack lifted Reaper into his arms and carried him to the bedroom. Getting the sheets off with his hands full was unlikely to be worth the effort when neither of them had any intention of getting undressed, so he simply laid Reaper upon the bed and kicked his shoes off before settling in next to him, tucking Reaper’s head into the crook of his shoulder.

“G’night. You bastard,” he added as an afterthought.

Reaper’s shoulders shook in what might have been a laugh, and slowly, laboriously he brought an arm around Jack before going still.

Jack closed his eyes. He’d think of a suitable excuse for the others in the morning.

* * *

Jack woke to an empty bed, a spotless safehouse and a note on the table.

_ Be fine. Thanks. _


End file.
